


The Rite

by dragongoats



Series: Tales of Thedas [17]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Kinloch Hold, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-12
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2019-02-13 20:47:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12992229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragongoats/pseuds/dragongoats
Summary: Duty is never easy.





	The Rite

Knight-Commander Greagoir paced the hall of the circle tower. His footsteps, and the sharp clank of metal armour, almost succeeded in drowning out the horrific shrieks which emanated from beyond the solid wooden door. A door which held back abominations, demons, blood mages, or worse. A door which he closed, trapping any remaining survivors.

With each sudden sound and echo, his heart lurched with hope. Hope that Irving would open the heavy door. That'd he'd stand there, arms outstretched in welcome, the familiar corners of his eyes creased from the years together. He’d proclaim in that deep rasping voice that the blood mages had been slain, that all was right in the Maker’s eyes again.

_Except it wouldn’t be. And dreaming it be so was fool-hardy. Irving was dead, or worse._

*

A templar lieutenant approached him. “Knight-Commander, it’s been three days—surely no one is alive, we must act…” She pleaded. Her eyes darted back and forth and sweat beaded her temple. _Too much lyrium, not enough sleep._

Greagoir’s mouth was a hard line. He nodded and clasped the Templar on the shoulder. “Still yourself. We wait for word from Denerim. Go.” Greagoir ordered.

Greagoir knew his duty as a Templar, knew that the only way the mages and Templars locked within these walls had escaped the fate of demon possession or death was by the hand of Andraste herself. Rite of Annulment or no, he could act for the safety of his Templars if nothing else.

Yet, Greagoir stilled his hand.

Somewhere deep within him he held a sliver of hope that Irving was still alive. It was a place where neither duty nor faith could touch. It was the same place that he allowed himself to delve into in those quiet moments with nothing but the reassuring sound of Irving's steady beating heart mingling with his. 

*

“I will not believe the tower safe unless I hear from First-Enchanter Irving himself.” Greagoir said to the insubordinate mage-turned-warden.

The warden Surana stood with his arms folded, his jaw clenching. He had no love for the circle yet was adamant that others still lived. Greagoir wondered if the Warden’s stubbornness might just be enough. He prayed it would be. Out of any of them, he could almost believe that Irving alone could withstand the onslaught of demons and insidious claws of the blood mages. Almost.

_Maker, let it be enough to save him._


End file.
